


When the Winds Begin to Sing

by BlushingNewb



Series: Forces of Nature [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ACD Canon References, Established Relationship, Fluff, John Sings, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Romance, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Slow Build, Writing Exercise, discussion of relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushingNewb/pseuds/BlushingNewb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the conclusion of a case, Sherlock and John spend a relaxing afternoon bonding with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Winds Begin to Sing

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an interlude set between “The Storm” and “Upon the Thaw.” It shows the progression of the romance between John and Sherlock and the discussion of their relationship. This piece is fluffier than the other works in the Forces of Nature series; it’s 7,000+ words of romantic porn without plot. I didn’t plan for it to go on that long, I promise, but the men drew it out. 
> 
> My extended vacation is almost at an end and I wanted to wrap up the series with something sweet and lighthearted. I’ll be producing far less writing at a time, but I’ve currently got something cracky in the pipes for a kinkmeme prompt that may come out late next week. I may also return to this series if further inspiration strikes.
> 
> Addendum: I discovered the Let's Write Sherlock Challenge 3 prompt and decided to add this to the Collection!
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Feedback is always welcome.

John opened his eyes and found his face pressed against soft, white pillows. He grunted and rolled away from the puddle of drool that had trickled out from his mouth, and, as he sat up, he realized that he was still fully clothed. The previous night’s activities came back to him in a rush; after nearly two days straight, he and Sherlock had concluded their investigation of a wealthy businessman's murder. Sherlock had succeeded in uncovering the true culprits and exonerating the man’s secretary, but the murderous father/son team had almost succeeded in eliminating Sherlock. John had interrupted their proceedings in the bathroom and together they were able to turn over the pair to Lestrade. John looked around their bedroom now, trying to determine the time of day, and was unaided by a weak light struggling in through the window. The pale glow filtering through the room could have been attributable to either dusk or dawn, but when John stood up and looked at his mobile, he was surprised to see that it was actually two in the afternoon. 

Sherlock was in the kitchen, dressed in shirt and trousers with a dressing gown wrapped around him. His hair was damp and he peered into his microscope. Without turning away, he blinked and said,

“John.”

“Afternoon, Sherlock.”

Greetings exchanged, John turned his attention to the kettle and the mundane matter of arranging some simple food for himself. He put extra on his plate, just in case Sherlock decided to engage in his usual theft of toast.

He wasn’t disappointed. As Sherlock bent to turn the page of a reference manual he snatched a choice piece that John had slathered with honey and munched on it. John hid a smile and ate his own food. The two of them had shared many comfortable silences this way, but as John turned to put his plate in the sink, he felt eyes at the back of his neck. He wrinkled his brow. There was something different swirling in the atmosphere this afternoon.

“John, are you going to regret not having a family?”

This was new and definitely unexpected.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow?”

“This…us. Is it going to be enough for you?”

John turned around to see Sherlock staring down at a slide in his hands.

“Sherlock, what makes you say that?”

“Well, you’ve always been attracted to women. I assumed that you were planning on seeking out a commitment to perpetuate your lineage. You’ve also defiantly proclaimed your heterosexuality to anyone who would listen.”

John pursed his lips. He wondered what had brought this on and asked as much.

“What we have, John, isn’t going to lead to marriage or children. That’s what people want. That’s what most people do. And how do you feel about other people knowing about us?”

It took no time at all for John to determine what his friend needed. He walked slowly to his place at the table and paused beside his shoulder. He stood beside him, right where he belonged.

“Sherlock, you see but you do not observe. I’m not most people. You’re not most people. I always said that I wasn’t gay because it was the truth. You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted. I don’t know or really care what label that gets me now as long as I can be with you. It was after you...came back that I realized I wanted a different sort of relationship with you. But you already knew that, and I’m pretty sure that’s how it was for you, too.”

He placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Look, I’ve never regretted one second of this. I’m completely comfortable being open about the fact that we’re romantically involved and committed.”

Sherlock looked shocked and indignant. The look of disgust on his face was almost comical.

“I’m not interested in making a happy announcement at the Yard or on the blog! That’s just ridiculous and sentimental tripe. I despise weddings – ugh, superfluous and overblown - and ‘boyfriendy’ labels.”

John was overcome by giggles.

“Oh, my God, Sherlock, you read my mind. No, I just meant that I’m not going to hide that the…parameters of our relationship have changed. If people ask about us, I’ll tell them the truth. I think we’re both pretty private about affection, though. I’m not much of a public hand holder or kisser, I never have been, but I don’t think you are, either?”

Sherlock smiled, nodding, and John felt encouraged.

“Sherlock, there is nothing missing in my life. When you were gone…that’s when there was…” John swallowed hard. He hated thinking of Sherlock’s absence.

“-something missing.”

His friend raised a hand to touch John’s where it rested. In a low voice, he said,

“I missed you, too.”

“I don’t want marriage. I like children, but my life isn’t empty without my own. I want the Work, I want the danger. But I want it with you. As long as you'll have me, I’ll be your friend and I’ll be your lover…”

“My partner, John. In the Work. Please know that. And…I want you to be my partner in...everything. All things, all ways. For life. With you and only you.”

As Sherlock bent his head down, John pressed his forehead against his cheek.

“Yes, Sherlock. I'm yours, I’m by your side. Always.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. They held each other for a long time.

* * *

Eventually they broke away after one last tight squeeze, smiling. Sherlock picked up his slide and placed it back under the microscope. John wandered off into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. He tossed his clothes in the bin and stepped into the steam.

A shiver of joy ran through his body and, unselfconsciously, he opened his mouth to sing for the first time in years. John had a natural ear for pitch and he vocalized confidently now in a soft, untrained tenor.

_Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing_  
 _And the corn it ripens fastest when the frosts are settling in_  
 _And when a young man tells me that my face he'll soon forget_  
 _Before we part, I'd better croon, he'd be fain to follow it yet..._  
  
 _Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing_  
 _And the bee that flew when Summer shone in Winter he won't sing_  
 _And all the flowers in all the land so brightly there they be_  
 _And the snow it melts the soonest when my true love's there for me_

_So never say me farewell here, no farewell I'll receive_  
 _You can meet me at the stile, you kiss and take your leave_  
 _And I'll wait it till the woodcock crows or the martin takes its leave_  
 _Since the snow it melts the soonest, when the winds begin to sing_

* * *

When he emerged from the shower, wrapped in his bathrobe and swiping a towel over his head, Sherlock was standing by the window in their sitting room. John noted that the wind speed had increased while he was in the bathroom, and he heard a rattle upstairs as it blew through the attic. He took a seat and propped his feet up before putting his hands behind his head. 

Sherlock turned from the window and gave John a small smile. He picked up his violin from behind him and ran the bow over it a few times, settling into a series of tonal exercises.

Then he stared heavily and deliberately at John, who in turn licked his lips at the heat he saw in his friend's eyes. Sherlock’s own lips were parted just slightly, and he began to play, closing his eyes.

He played the tune John had sung in the shower. Sherlock was perfectly reproducing it now for John, the bow caressing the strings. He produced the melody of the first stanza then paused, looking to John again. His eyes held John’s, imploringly, and his mouth opened again in a silent request. He held out the bow to John and nodded just slightly, his head still pressed against the chin rest. John understood perfectly. Clearing his throat, he stood up from the chair and raised his voice in song.

He closed his own eyes and listened to what they were building together. Sherlock matched his tempo flawlessly and filled the silence between the stanzas with improvisations. As John opened his eyes, he saw that Sherlock had turned away and was swaying with the violin, lost in the music. Slowly, John stepped forward across the sitting room as he sang. He let his voice linger on some of the words, filling them with meaning. He walked into Sherlock’s space, just allowing his left shoulder to press against his back. They moved together, and John allowed his voice to grow softer as he raised his head to direct the melody into Sherlock’s ear. John’s voice purred as he reached the second to last line, stretching out the phrase,

_And I’ll wait..._

Sherlock pressed back against him, seeking contact, and John sang the final line, tapering off into pianissimo,

_when the winds begin to sing._

Sherlock repeated the phrase once more and then gently lowered his bow. John put his arms around him, pressing his lips to his shoulder blade, and Sherlock placed the violin on the table. Then he covered John’s hands with his own. They rocked gently and listened to the gusts outside. John moved his hands up Sherlock’s chest, to the second button of his shirt. Slowly, he undid the buttons down to his waist and Sherlock stroked the insides of his wrists. John sighed at his touch.

He trailed his fingers up and down his friend’s bared chest, and Sherlock’s head dropped backward onto his shoulder with a low moan. John pushed his nose past the slightly damp hair to kiss his white neck, and his friend shuddered into him. John let out a pleased hum as he raised one hand to Sherlock’s clavicle and trailed fingers along it. He let his other hand wander to Sherlock's nipple and he stroked it with a single finger. John’s caress was soft and light, but Sherlock squirmed and cried out,

“John!”

John smiled against his neck and added a thumb, keeping the pressure light but consistent.

“Please, John!” His friend arched his back at the sensations. John ran his other hand down the front of his trousers and groaned as he felt Sherlock’s erection. He pressed his hips up against the back of Sherlock’s thigh, allowing him to feel his own arousal, then released his hold on him.

“Ok, let’s take this to the bedroom.”

His friend turned around and chuckled, low and smooth.

“I have plans for you.”

John licked his lips and smiled up at him.

“Likewise, mate.”

* * *

As the wind picked up outside, Sherlock slipped his shirt and robe off and went to lie on his side on the bed. John trailed in after him, still in his robe, and stopped at the dresser to pull out a bottle. Sherlock raised his head from the bed and looked at John quizzically.

“I picked it up the other day at Tesco. Since we both got our tests back, I thought it might be a good idea to have it handy. You know…in case I want you to…explore me.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

“John, I’m intrigued. But why might you think _I’m_ not interested in being…explored?”

John blushed. He crossed over to the bed and set the bottle off to the side, crawling into the bed to lie on his side, facing his lover.

“Well, it’s not that I…think you _wouldn’t_ want that. It’s just about getting comfortable. I’ll be honest about when I want new things... and I want you to be honest with me if you want new things or if you don’t.”

Sherlock thought this over for about two seconds and leaned in to kiss him. For a man with zero experience prior to John he had become a dangerously sensual kisser, and he took John’s breath away. He broke and whispered into John’s ear.

“This ‘new’ set of possibilities is…stimulating.”

John giggled and kissed him back, running his tongue along his bottom lip.

“That’s how I feel. Let’s just see where this goes, then.”

They kissed one another again, and as the kisses became more fevered and tongues explored hot mouths, Sherlock untied John’s robe and slid it off his shoulders. He pressed kisses on John’s sensitive neck and down his chest. Pausing, he let his lips touch the exit point of John’s wound. John exhaled slowly and stroked his hair.

“God, Sherlock, you’re so…accepting. You’re beautiful.”

His friend looked up at him, his gaze affectionate. Sherlock kissed him on the lips.

“It’s part of who you are, and I find all of you attractive. Logical.”

John smiled and shook his head. He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and massaged his scalp. His friend moaned and craned his neck into the touch, then fastened his lips back to John’s. John whispered into his mouth,

“I also find you attractive.” He took his friend’s hand and ran it down his abdomen and inside his robe, pressing it to his erection. Sherlock swallowed and a shallow breath hitched out from his chest. He wrapped long fingers around John’s cock and stroked gently.

“I want to fellate you, John.”

A tremor went through John’s body and his head rolled back against the pillow.

“God, Sherlock, yes, the last time was amazing, your mouth is amazing. Yes, I’d love that, and I want to return the favor. But I want you to do something new to me.”

John’s mouth quirked up when he saw Sherlock’s pupils dilate. Sherlock leaned over him and licked along John’s mouth, a seductive gleam in his eyes.

“Do go on.”

John was new to sex with a man but he definitely knew how to wind up a partner. He put his lips to Sherlock’s ear and whispered,

“Love, I want you to put a finger inside of me.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his cheeks blushed alarmingly red. John chuckled at his response and explained.

“I…experimented the other day and, well, explored my prostate. Sure, I found it a long time ago so I would know what I’m doing to some poor bloke during an exam, but I never...touched it for fun. It was pretty spectacular. I wanted to see what it would be like with you and what it would be like while you were…sucking me.”

John watched as his friend swallowed several times and blinked rapidly. He lowered his voice and put his mouth back to Sherlock’s ear.

“Also, I might want you inside of me one day. Do you think you’d like that?”

“Er…yeah,” Sherlock stuttered. “I think I would be amenable to that. Okay.”

John loved that the formality of Sherlock’s speech started to dissipate as he became increasingly aroused. It was one of the many new things he had learned about his friend now that they were lovers. He pushed the envelope.

“Sherlock, for me, it’s a beautiful thing when your language relaxes. I feel it here.” He thrust up into Sherlock’s fingers and his friend let out a gasp. “It makes me feel so special, love, that you’ve chosen to share this with me.”

“You are special, John,” Sherlock said hoarsely. “There’s no one like you.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” he said, pressing his forehead to him, “I’m so glad, every day I’m glad to be with you. Even when you’re a pretentious arse.”

“And even when you’re an idiot.”

They laughed together and nibbled at each other’s lips. John never thought he would find a lover like this, a friend, someone he could laugh with in bed. The nibbling turned into kissing, and the kissing grew more desperate. Sherlock parted the rest of John’s robe so that he was lying on it, then pulled away from him and crawled off the bed, standing up. He looked sheepishly over at John and shucked off his trousers.

“They were becoming constrictive,” he said, and he adjusted his erection inside his black briefs. John stared at him lasciviously and backed up onto the pillows, stroking himself. For a man (John still found himself prefacing his thoughts this way from time to time) Sherlock was beautiful. John loved his face, with its stunning contrast of harsh cheekbones and soft, plush lips. The features combined surprisingly well with the piercing eyes of indeterminate color and halo of dark curls. But there was also his lovely body – all tendons and muscle, taut and sinuous. John found himself breathing faster as he trailed his eyes downward, past sculpted chest to jutting hipbones. He thought of wrapping his hands around those hips, pressing fingers into Sherlock’s lush backside and rutting up against him. Against what he knew was his lover’s erection - long, lean, circumcised unlike himself, flushed pink and hard.

Sherlock, of course, instantly noticed him admiring and gave him a predatory smile. He got back onto the bed, moving to crouch between John’s knees. He surveyed John’s body to his great satisfaction. The shorter man was still lightly muscled from time spent in the military and the exertions of chasing around after criminals. He was well proportioned; all the parts of his body were in harmony, and his skin was smooth (Sherlock knew now) even after many years in an arid climate. What little body hair he had was pale and lightly covered his upper arms, thighs and lower abdomen, down to a dark blond cluster of hair around his cock, which was currently jutting out from his body and encircled by his right hand. From recent experience and comparative Internet research, Sherlock knew that John was of average length but a little plumper in girth. A thrill of anticipation shot through Sherlock as he contemplated John’s size; he had been giving serious thought to inviting John to partake in a set of activities with him, _to do to_ him. Sherlock bit his lip in arousal as he recalled that John thought about Sherlock being inside of _him_ , too. There was clearly a lot they would be able to exchange together.

For now, clear fluid was steadily trickling from John’s slit and his foreskin had retracted. But for all the appeal of John’s body, Sherlock’s favorite feature was his face. His eyes were large and deep blue, augmented with a ring of gold around each of his pupils. Those eyes, when turned to Sherlock, were full of fondness [love?] and admiration; they shone brighter for him than all the lights of the world. John’s lips were a particular temptation for Sherlock. They looked innocuous enough – they were rather thin - but were so sensitive to touch that they set off a volatile series of chemical reactions in John’s body and subsequently Sherlock’s.

It was John’s face that he watched now as he reached up to trace those lips. John shuddered and called out his name – he was so responsive – and Sherlock let out a groan at how his body moved under his touch. He pulled John’s hand away from his cock and looked back at his face to watch the eager movement of his lips, the pink tongue that darted out when he was aroused. Sherlock wrapped two fingers around the base of John’s cock to hold it in place. He licked his lips several times and touched them to the head, mouthing around it gently. John bucked up his hips and moaned.

“Yes, Sherlock, oh, yes, yes, please.”

Sherlock laughed, then put out his tongue and began licking vertically up from the base, coating him with saliva. He licked back down and up until he noticed John’s thighs shaking.

_good_

Sherlock wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had plans for John. While John had been getting in touch with his prostate, Sherlock had been doing some research of his own. If John had noticed the presence of bananas at the flat, he hadn’t mentioned it. Sherlock fastened his mouth around John’s tip, tongued around his crown and sunk lower, sucking along his shaft in a casual rhythm. He inhaled the scent of him, store-brand soap, cotton robe and John. He smelled clean and warm and there was an earthiness about him, as if of beach sand – or just sand. He could hear the pitch of John’s moans dip lower, and he knew it was time.

Sherlock removed his fingers from around the base of John's cock and took him all the way in to the root.

“Oh, fuck! God, so good!”

Excellent, the practice had paid off. Breathing was easier this way than he had thought it would be. Sherlock held him there for a few moments, experiencing the sensation of his head against his throat, then slowly pulled back. He dipped down again, taking him in deep once more. Growing more confident with the angle, he pulled up, took John’s hand from beside him and placed it on top of his own head. John accepted the invitation and held Sherlock in place, thrusting upwards. When John hit the back of his throat again, he cried out,

“Sherlock, oh my God!”

Sherlock laughed around him, causing his mouth to constrict gently around John’s cock. John let out a strangled cry before he stilled, tugging Sherlock’s head up.

“John, are you alright?”

“Hfgh, wonderful, you’re fucking amazing, how did you learn to do that?”

“Research, of course. The Internet and bananas.”

John giggled.

“Of course. That explains a lot, actually. I had wondered if you were planning an experiment. Well, I suppose it sort of was one. I would loved to have seen that, you know?”

Sherlock bent down again and asked against his tip,

“Shall I continue?”

“God, yes, but before I finish I still want to try…” he pushed the bottle of lube into Sherlock’s hands. “I’m pretty relaxed from your oral skills, so I think it’s a good time.”

“I’m willing. Talk me through it.”

“I’ve just been using one finger and a lot of lube, so start with that.”

Sherlock opened the container and squeezed out a generous dollop. He rubbed it on his fingers speculatively.

“Hmm, it’s cold, similar to standard surgical lubricant. But that’s not always the case, is it - there are other commercial and recreational options, too, yes? Interesting mix of glycerin and water here. I see that this isn’t silicone-based. Exactly how long will the water remain in a liquid state before evaporating?”

John grinned at his lover, enchanted by his line of questioning.

“It’ll last long enough, Sherlock. Your bedroom scientific curiosity is actually quite charming. It’s perfectly you and I love it. You ready? It’ll warm up as gets more skin contact, don’t worry.”

He spread his legs wide, remembering how this had worked when he had done it. He tried to tilt his hips upward but then gave up and grabbed a pillow, stuffing it underneath his bum. Sherlock looked at him and cocked his head. John explained,

“Accessibility. Can you see?”

“Yes. It’s rather interesting.”

John laughed. This was beginning to feel more than a little ridiculous, and he almost wanted to bypass it altogether when the expression on Sherlock’s face changed from one of curiosity to one of intensity. He bent forward and licked along John’s slightly relaxed cock once more and then trailed downwards, caressing his testicles with his tongue. John sighed, reveling in the sensations. Sherlock leaned back and ran two gentle fingers up against the underside of his balls, gradually sliding them down along the stretched patch of skin. Finally, he placed the tip of his slick finger against his hole.

“Oh,” John breathed out.

“That’s pleasurable?” Sherlock inquired.

“Yes, actually, it is.”

Sherlock moved his finger in a circle, stroking the muscles around his rectum, and John felt himself alternately relaxing and tensing.

“Fascinating,” Sherlock breathed out, and his touch became less clinical and more sensual by the second. John let out a moan at the notes of interest he heard in his voice. Sherlock began to pass his finger repeatedly over the closed hole, teasing the rim. John marveled at the expression on his face, and even as he watched him, Sherlock bit his lower lip.

“Sherlock, oh…” John said, his voice dropping down low. His erection was showing some interest in the proceedings again.

“Mmm, John. This is more…erotic than I expected.”

“Tell me about it,” John gasped, “I think I’m ok if you want to go farther. Just take it slow, and as you push in I’ll be bearing down.”

“I’ll go slowly.” The finger paused at John’s entrance now, and began to push inward at the pucker just slightly. John focused on keeping his breathing even, and he bore down as he felt the first knuckle push past his sphincter.

“John, how is it? You’re tight around me,” Sherlock sounded uncertain but kept his finger in place.

“It’s ok. Different, but ok.”

“Shall I…?”

“Yes, definitely yes.”

John closed his eyes, breathed deeply and as he felt the finger push in further he pushed back against it. His eyes flew open when he realized he could feel the rest of Sherlock’s fingers resting up against him…outside of him.

“Oh my God, Sherlock, you’re _inside of me_.” It was, as Sherlock had said, more erotic than expected and John’s cock twitched downward onto his stomach. His friend inhaled sharply and the finger rippled inside of John.

“Er, do I…should I move? As if I were…?” John could hear the trepidation in his voice and saw concern written on his face. He wanted to reassure him.

“Yes, I did. When I tried it, I pushed in and out. You can do that now, if you want to.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and flicked from John’s face, to his cock, and back to his finger. His expression became eager and hungry.

“I do want to,” he said, smiling now, and he pulled his finger out almost all the way and then slid it back inside. John moaned; it was different with another person touching him this way. It was a thousand times more intimate and overtly sexual.

_he’s fucking me with his finger, oh God, and I love it_

“Oh,” John said, “That…yeah, keep doing it.” Sherlock repeated the motion, picking up speed almost instinctively. He saw John’s cock harden again to its full size and watched as his body responded to his movement. He listened as John emitted a series of low cries and murmurs; he was definitely enjoying this. Sherlock realized that he was enjoying this, too. He felt his own erection throb as he watched his finger enter into his lover and a hot flush crept up his neck.

“Ok, Sherlock, stop, I want to show you what I touched the other day,” John groaned out. Reluctantly, Sherlock stilled his finger.

“Get more lube, love, and after I show you this I think I really need to come. You don’t have to suck me again but I’m…um…really…” he trailed off as Sherlock withdrew his finger and poured out more lube.

“Hmm, I think I understand,” said Sherlock, “now, to your prostate?” he said, almost businesslike. John tittered nervously. He was torn halfway between amusement and arousal at the tone in his friend’s voice.

“Um, yeah. So you obviously know about the prostate. When I tried it I liked touching around it but not pushing, if that makes sense? So go ahead and put your finger back in,” he said, and as Sherlock obliged, he continued, “and if you curl it about four or five centimeters in…”

John felt a light pressure and that astounding sensation of pleasure at the same time,

“Oh, Sherlock, love, yes,” he said, throwing his head backward onto the bed.

“Four point eight centimeters,” Sherlock said, and he let forth a deep, satisfied hum. He gently pushed his finger all the way into John, then withdrew it slowly, dragging the tip over the sensitive area once more.

“Oh, God, oh,” John gasped out, and he wrapped his hand around himself. “Sorry, Sherlock, I’ve got to, I’m too…I do want to suck you after, please…”

Sherlock adjusted himself on the bed without pulling his finger from John and hovered over his cock.

“No apologies, John. I love seeing you like this, you’re…tantalizing. I enjoy touching you. Just like I enjoy this…”

And as he trailed off, he put his mouth over John’s prick, on top of his working hand. John cried out and relented, letting his hand fall so that Sherlock’s mouth could engulf him. Any concerns he had about being selfish were obliterated by the sensations that were coming from his cock and his arse. Sherlock played him with his mouth and his finger. After a few more strokes across his prostate and tighter suction, John was on edge.

“Sherlock, I’m…”

“Mmm-hmm,” came the affirmative response, and when John managed to look downward, the eyes were bright and earnest.

“Oh, I…Sherlock…”

That was the last coherent utterance John had for some time, because his lover took him down to his throat again and swallowed around him. John pulsed into his hot mouth and yelled, writhing uncontrollably.

* * *

John lay prone on the bed, unmoving, as the world finally spun to a halt underneath him. He noticed that his friend had curled up next to him. He didn’t trust himself to speak yet, so he rolled to face him and cupped Sherlock’s cheek as he panted. He kissed him deeply on the lips, tasting himself there. Finally, words returned to him.

“Oh, you have it coming now.”

Sherlock let out a deep and rumbling laugh, “Is that so?”

“I had no idea that was going to feel so much better when you did it. I owe you,” John said, still somewhat breathless. “Prepare yourself, Holmes. I’m going to make you feel _so good_.”

John prided himself on his skills as a lover. He knew he didn’t have much of an upper hand in this particular relationship, but he had made more deductions about the needs of partners than Sherlock had. There was one particular activity he had engaged in with two of his more adventurous lovers that would translate especially well today. John was willing to bet the genius wouldn’t see this one coming.

John looked at Sherlock, taking in his appearance. His hair was mussed where John had run his fingers through it and his mouth was red and wet. His cheeks were flushed and he had that tell-tale full body blush building down from his neck. He remained clad in his black briefs but was nevertheless aroused. John, physically sated, determined to use his now-unclouded brain to overload Sherlock’s mind with lust.

He pulled Sherlock to him and leaned up, putting his mouth to his ear. John ran one hand up and down his back as he spoke.

“Oh, Sherlock,” he intoned, “that _was_ incredible. I loved the way your mouth felt on me. So soft and warm. Your tongue licking me, up and down my cock. The way you took me in all the way to your throat – God, so sexy, so generous. Could you feel how much I loved being in there? How I loved your lips on me? Your beautiful, perfect lips…”

John looked down at him and slid his forefinger over Sherlock’s bottom lip. He blinked several times and that gorgeous mouth twitched at John’s touch. John feathered a kiss over it and was delighted when Sherlock tried to lean into his mouth. He withdrew and returned to whispering in his ear and stroking his back.

“Yes, you know how much I enjoyed that. You’re amazing. Your brilliant mind taking the time to pleasure me - I honestly feel a bit unworthy…”

Here Sherlock shook his head vigorously and tried to protest, but John wouldn’t be put off and he gently laid a finger against his lips.

“….but I’m not complaining, love. Not when I have the chance to make this ‘transport’ of yours feel so good it’ll make your neurotransmitters sing my name. That’s what I’m going to do to you…”

He pressed the gentlest of kisses to his ear then sucked the lobe into his mouth. The man shuddered up against him. John kissed his cheek next to his ear then pressed soft kisses all the way over to his mouth. Sherlock parted his mouth eagerly for John’s tongue, but he just chuckled and ghosted a kiss over each lip, ignoring his grunt of discontent. As he continued the teasing, gradually pressing kisses down to his neck, he let his hand dip lower to the hollow of Sherlock’s spine just above his arse. He rubbed circles, edging lower, sometimes squeezing his cheeks. Sherlock pressed himself closer to John and thrust against him, groaning at the friction when he pressed into John’s hip.

He turned his head back up and kissed Sherlock full on the mouth this time, giving him some of the pressure and heat that he sought. He pulled back to his ear and whispered,

“Sherlock, I’m going to lick you and suck you, and you’re going to come with my mouth around you.”

“John, please!”

John smiled and kissed him hard this time, sucking his tongue when he pressed it into his mouth and tasting himself. He pulled away again, rolling his friend onto his back as he made his way down his body. Sherlock moaned as John’s fingers reached the waistband of his pants, and he eagerly raised his hips to wriggle out of them as John pulled them off. Smiling, he pushed Sherlock’s thighs apart and sat down on his heels between them. He caressed his jutting hips and softly kneaded his hands inward and down. John stroked his lover’s cock a few times, knowing that this would provide him some short-term relief.

“So gorgeous, Sherlock. I love touching you, I can’t get enough of it.”

“Oh, John…”

He wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. John was aware that he didn’t have the ability to take him all the way into his throat, not yet, but he vowed that he would soon. He resolved to try and see how deeply he could go today, but he wasn’t planning on overawing Sherlock with this particular oral technique. He licked up from his hand to the head, pausing to rub his tongue against the sensitive fraenulum, and then he took in the tip, slowly mouthing his lips over it. He went deeper, bobbing his head up and down, and his friend cried out in pleasure. He rose up and off his member and pressed a kiss to it. John raised his face up to meet Sherlock’s eyes, and he smiled.

“Do you trust me?”

Sherlock’s cheeks were rose pink and he breathed out raggedly.

“John, I…trust you more than anyone.”

“I would like to do something new for you - I think you might enjoy it.”

Something lurched in his heart when he saw Sherlock reaching over for the lube. John didn’t know what he had done to warrant that kind of trust but he clarified immediately.

“Oh, no, love, no, that’s not what I meant.”

There was definite confusion on his face now.

“I’m open to it.”

“I understand, and if you really want that today, we can, but that’s not what I was asking for. There was something else I wanted to do for you today.”

“But what…?” he could hear his friend saying, thinking it through. John knew it wouldn’t take him long at all, so in the meantime he turned his attention to the base of Sherlock’s cock. He tongued around the bottom of his shaft and then licked downward, stretching out his legs to make his body almost flush against the bed. John pressed kisses against his thighs. He gently took one ball into his mouth, sliding his tongue around it, and then exchanged it for the other. He rolled his tongue down the seam of his scrotum and then carefully lifted him, licking the underside of his sac and as far beneath it as the angle permitted. John made every swipe of his tongue a promise, every movement of his lips on Sherlock’s sensitive skin a preview. When he heard a soft noise from deep in his lover’s throat, he withdrew, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Now…I know you’ve figured it out. Is this something you would like? Because I’ll be honest, I would really love to do this for you. I’ve been thinking about it since we came in the bedroom. I’m definitely going to suck you off, but I wanted you to know you have options.”

His friend shivered at John’s coarse expression and he could hear him breathing raggedly above him.

“I didn’t expect…John, I think…”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“I think you’re wonderful,” he whispered.

John gave each of his thighs a soft kiss.

“Yes, John, I do want this,” Sherlock said, more audibly.

John grinned against his skin.

“Then, love, if you’ll roll over and scoot up a bit…” John trailed off and guided him with his hands until Sherlock was positioned high on the bed, closer to the headboard.

“Almost…if you’ll move your knees apart…yes, like that and then, go ahead, put your head down, turn it to the side…”

When Sherlock was spread and vulnerable to John’s satisfaction, he crouched on his own hands and knees behind him. John tugged his lover toward him by the front of his thighs and pressed sloppy kisses on his plump, white cheeks. Raising his head and smirking, John said,

“Alright. I’m going to eat your arse out now…and you’re going to love it.” His friend let out a low, rasping moan and John parted him just _so_ , pressing his lips to him.

“Oh, God…” Sherlock vibrated as John’s mouth touched him. John smiled again, and pressed a chaste kiss to his hole. He was different from a woman in the obvious ways, of course, but the rest was similar. There was the same tight pucker and the near-constant shifting of muscles underneath the fine layer of skin. As John put out his tongue and pressed against his rim, he twitched away from the sensation. But as he flattened his tongue onto him, he relaxed and let out the deepest moan John had ever heard from him.

“You’ve done this before…with women…”

“Mmm-hmm,” John agreed, sealing his lips and allowing him to feel the hum against his rim. Then he began licking and kissing in earnest, circling around the tight muscle, moving his tongue back and forth, ever so slowly focusing on the center. John tasted the smell of his expensive soap and something else, most probably pheromones. Sherlock gasped and bucked. When John poked the tip of his tongue into him, his lover called out sharply,

“Oh, fuck! John!”

It was the filthiest word John had ever heard Sherlock say, and had he not already climaxed fifteen minutes earlier that cry alone would have done it. To his surprise, John was already firming up again. He pressed in further, making circles just along the inside of his rim and he felt his lover relax and open up for him.

_yes_

John felt a surge of victory and heard Sherlock sobbing below him, letting loose a stream of nonsense syllables and plaintive moans. He went in for the kill and thrust his tongue into him, feeling him quiver. He jabbed his tongue in repeatedly, listening to the upwardly spiraling tone of his friend’s cries. Sherlock began to shake violently and it seemed like he was losing motor control. As John flexed his tongue inside of him further he felt his friend trying to thrust downwards. John finally relented and withdrew his tongue gently, kissing against his hole once more before he got up. His lover collapsed over onto his side and John rolled him over onto his back. Sherlock allowed one of his arms to drape carelessly over his face while his other hand made its way to his erection, rock-hard and ruddy. He panted heavily and the skin of his chest was mottled with pink. John intercepted Sherlock’s hand and bent over him again.

“Look down at me, love, watch me take you in. I want you to come in my mouth.”

Sherlock moved his arm and looked down toward John. His lips were parted and his pupils were as large as John had ever seen them, wider even than they got at crime scenes.

“Please, John, please…”

“Yeah,” said John, and he took him in, hollowing his cheeks. He wrapped a hand around him and stroked in time with his sucking, allowing his tongue to slide up and down the smoothness of his shaft, which was coated liberally with pre-ejaculate.

“God, John, soon…”

John sped up. He had teased Sherlock mercilessly, and he could feel his desperation, along with his own. The taste of Sherlock, his unique salt, became sharper and John knew he was close. He pushed himself down as far as he could safely go and Sherlock lost it.

“John, John, John!”

His friend shivered underneath him and his bitterness filled John’s mouth. He pulled away from his friend when he felt him relax against his tongue and shuffled off to the side, admiring Sherlock in his lassitude. His eyes were closed and he looked thoroughly exhausted.

“You were brilliant, Sherlock. Quite inspiring,” John said, huffing as he urgently stroked himself. His friend seemed to recover somewhat and he let out a low laugh.

“I never imagined anything could feel like that, John, it was magnificent,” he said mirthfully, running an appreciative hand up John’s thigh. He grinned up at him good-naturedly. “Go on,” he told John. “I love to watch you. Finish for me, John.”

John moaned at his voice and his touch and the warm glow in his eyes. He was incredibly turned on, for the second time that day, and he could barely stand it. He thought of what he had done to Sherlock and looked at the evidence of their passion. Sherlock was still flushed all over, his black curls were disheveled and his limbs lay loosely across the bed in an uncoordinated sprawl. As heat uncoiled up from John’s belly, he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut. Long fingers found his left hand and John gripped them tightly.

“That’s right, John. You know you gave me unprecedented pleasure, yes? Think of how I cried out when you touched me. Remember how I moved under your hands, underneath your _tongue_. Recall how I came in your mouth, how you drank me down. Let go for me, John,” urged the baritone voice, dripping with dark honey.

He jerked himself hard and fast, growling softly as his lover encouraged him. The sound of Sherlock’s curse and cries rang in his ears again, and he spilled out over his fingers, groaning in relief. He almost fell head first against the headboard, but Sherlock caught him and gentled him down onto the mattress beside him.

“My John, dear John.”

“Oh, Sherlock, love….that…I…”

They both hummed and sighed, completely spent. They pressed clumsy kisses to one another’s faces and gave up completely on discussion, relaxing into each other. John draped an arm around Sherlock’s waist and tucked his head against his chest. Sherlock hooked his long legs around John and buried his nose in his hair.

* * *

It was a bitter front that blew through that evening but the two men were safe inside, dozing peacefully. They were wrapped in one another’s arms, sheltered and cherished, when the winds began to sing.

**Author's Note:**

> The John and Sherlock of my series happen to feel exactly the same way about weddings as I do.
> 
> "The Snows They Melt the Soonest" is a British folk song that is at least 192 years old. It has been adapted and published many different times - I'm not sure who currently owns the rights so it is not posted here in its entirety.
> 
> Sherlock is the property of the BBC, Mark Gatiss & Steven Moffat. Sherlock Holmes is public domain. My thanks to Arthur Conan Doyle.


End file.
